


Make It Feel Real

by carry_on_my_wayward_butt



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 2005ish, Bandslash, Brendon Urie - Freeform, I suck at tags, Jon Walker - Freeform, M/M, P!ATD, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, Ryan Ross - Freeform, Ryden, Smut, Spencer Smith - Freeform, maybe 2006, or rydon idek man, somewhere around then, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:25:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_wayward_butt/pseuds/carry_on_my_wayward_butt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2005/6!Ryden. umm so basically Bden's kinda known for not being able to keep it in his pants and him and Ryro are dating and then smut happens?? i don't even know</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Feel Real

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know what i'm writing anymore oh lord. there's a moth in my room and i'm terrified. welp here goes i suppose. um this is maybe my third or fourth try at smut so my apologies in advance for how shitty this is gonna end up being. but im trYING OKAY

Okay, so Brendon might be a little bit creepy. It's past three in the morning and the band has their first hotel in over two weeks of touring, so you'd think he'd be trying to get as much sleep as possible, but. Trying is never enough when Ryan's nearby.

Tonight they're curled up together for one of the only times since they started officially dating a few months back, since neither Brendon nor Ry is much of a cuddler. But the day had been unbearably long and hot, and the AC in the van had broken down before noon, leaving them to swelter at the warmest part of the day, and everybody's just really damn tired, and maybe snuggling makes them feel better, okay. Makes Brendon feel better, since Ryan's long since fallen asleep and lost ability to feel much of anything. Ryan had his eyeliner applied more than graciously today despite the heat, and he'd forgotten to wipe away the smudged remains before collapsing onto the gloriously large hotel bed, dragging Brendon down with him even though they'd both been fully clothed in their sweaty outfits from the van. They had both wriggled out of their jeans but left their shirts, because they're not quite at the stage in their relationship where they can comfortably sleep in boxers (or less) with eachother. Jon and Spencer are no doubt peacefully asleep in separate beds in the next-door room, lucky bastards.

Brendon hasn't actually done anything with Ryan that involved 'boxers or less', yet. He's pretty surprised at himself for holding out as long as he has, and he's not the only one. Because while Brendon bears no reputation for whoring around, it's common knowledge that he seriously fucking sucks at keeping it in his pants once he's actually in a relationship. He wants Ryan, no doubt to that, and Ryan wants him, he's pretty sure, so he's not really certain why they haven't fooled around or anything yet. But Brendon isn't in the business of pressuring his boyfriend to do things he might not be ready for, so. There's that.

So, it's three in the goddamn morning, and instead of sleeping like he would have been a few years ago when he was still a good little virginal Mormon kid, Brendon is staring at Ryan's sleeping face. It might be a little creepy, but he can't tear his eyes away from Ryan's long dark eyelashes that flutter when Ry breathes out and his pink lips, swollen from sleep, and the stupid eyeliner smudges on his rosy cheeks, and  _god_ , Brendon hasn't got a clue how he ended up with someone who looks beautiful even in his sleep. He traces his fingers absentmindedly over Ryan's cheekbones, his neck, his collarbones that jut out beneath the top of Brendon's old t-shirt that Ryan stole and Brendon pretended not to notice. It's just slightly too big on Ryan's slender frame, flaring a bit around the hips since Brendon has girl curves and Ryan just doesn't have curves, period. Though, Brendon can't complain about that, because in his opinion there's nothing more wondrous than Ryan's tiny hips and the flat planes of his stomach, which Brendon has  _never_ stared at when they were changing into their show costumes backstage before concerts, regardless of what Spencer tries to convince everyone who will listen.

Thinking about Ryan's body gives Brendon a mischievous itch to do something silly and juvenile, like trace cute coupley words onto Ry's sleeping body. He briefly considers using Ry's arms, but decides it'll be more fun to do what he initially thought of doing. Gently as he can, Brendon lifts Ryan's (his) shirt up so Ryan's bare from the nipples down, and he brushes off his suspicion that Ryan's breath might have just caught. Lightly so as not to wake his sleeping boyfriend, Brendon carefully traces an L,O,V, and E onto Ry's ribs with his finger. He does BREN, PATD, CUTE, and  RYRO before remembering something on a fan's poster a few nights ago. I <3 RYDEN, it had said, or something along those lines. Although Brendon and Ryan's relationship wasn't public, Jon confirmed that Ryden was their couple name and that apparently a lot of people liked the idea of this Ryden thing. So, smirking subconsciously, Brendon draws RYDEN 4 LIFE across Ryan's pelvis, through the tiny dark strip of a happy trail that Brendon's only ever seen the top half of. Without meaning to, he tickles Ryan slightly, and then Ryan's eyes pop open, not sleepy at all, and Ryan says, "Okay, I might have been okay with the finger drawings, but that does not mean you get to tickle me, Bren."

Brendon startles so badly that he nearly falls off the bed, and Ryan laughs quietly. Brendon tries for a death glare and contemplates ignoring Ry, rolling over, getting to sleep at last, but curiosity gets the better of him. "How long have you been awake?"

"Since you started drawing on me. Nice 'LOVE', by the way. Not at all eighth-grade straight girl." Ryan snorts, and Brendon half-jokingly punches his arm.

"Well, you were being really cute and I had to do something to outwardly express my infatuation with your face," is Brendon's halfheartedly delivered excuse. Ryan grins his thousand-watt smile that Brendon loves, that Ryan hardly ever directs at anyone besides him (and Spencer sometimes, and Jon if he's lucky), and Brendon smashes their lips together because it's absolutely not fair at all that Ryan is so perfect. Ryan's smile is wiped off his pretty face, and Brendon feels Ry's lashes brush his own when Ryan closes his eyes, something Brendon did before their lips even touched. He grabs a slightly wavy strand of Ry's dark hair and twists it between his fingers, nipping not-so-carefully at Ryan's full bottom lip. Ryan makes this noise in response, this pleasantly surprised squeaky sound in the back of his throat, and Brendon can't help but smile against the other boy's lips. Until Ryan retaliates with a bite of his own, a carefully placed snap at the area between Brendon's lips and his chin, and saying Brendon wasn't expecting it would be an understatement. It hurts a little, stings just enough to be felt, but there's the sexy undertone to the bite that makes him forget pain completely. Of course, Brendon thinks somewhat bitterly as Ryan nibbles around his lips, their first time is probably going to be in a hotel. They're such boyband stereotypes that it actually makes Brendon cringe. Noticeably so, it seems, since Ryan pulls back, eyes out of focus in a way that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "What are you flinching at?" His voice is deeper than Brendon's heard it go before, and he knows then that he wasn't imagining that this seemed like it was leading to something bigger. "Nothing," Brendon says nonchalantly, sitting up onto his knees. "I was just thinking how obvious it would be for our first time together to be in a hotel room. You know, typical band stuff, right?" He grins impishly at the sight of Ryan's mouth dropping to form a little 'O' accompanied by equally round dilated pupils. While Ry's off guard, Brendon flips him over onto his back and, steeling his jumpy nerves, lifts one leg over Ryan's hips so he's straddling the older boy. He's not really expecting to feel Ryan semi-hard beneath him already, but there's the little bump against Brendon's ass, and this is actually happening. Apparently the slight aggression with the kisses has had much more of an effect on Ryan than he let on. Brendon leans down, rucking up Ryan's shirt again so he can trace his hands over the jutting bones, something he's never done unless you count running fingers beneath Ryan's shirt hem a few times, which Brendon does not, because that can't compare to this, Ryan's smooth chest flushing under his touch, nipples hard, arms trembling as Ryan holds himself up on his elbows. It's more than he's ever dreamed of, Ryan panting beneath him after so little foreplay, pupils blown, the whites of his eyes glowing in the moonlit darkness. In a moment of extreme confidence, Brendon grinds down once, rubbing up against Ryan's boxer-covered dick. Ryan gasps and Brendon figures, okay, this is how it's gonna go, and he's about to rub down again when Ryan grabs his arms, mumbles "Wait, wait, just, Bren, let me, let me." Brendon's no monster; he clambers awkwardly down Ryan's thighs so he's able to move without touching certain places, and Ryan takes a second, still gripping his arms tight enough to bruise. "That's not. I want," Ryan pants. "You're not supposed to be up there," and before Brendon can figure out what he means, he's flipped over so Ryan's above him, smudged makeup rubbing off on the bedsheets, and oh, okay, that's why Ry was hesitant.

Brendon's not complaining. It's more than hot, Ryan above him instead of vice versa, pinning him to the bed even though Ryan's tiny, bony. Ryan leans down, presses his lips to Brendon's and yanks on his hair. Brendon whimpers and grabs at Ryan's neck, holding him down, not letting him move. Ryan's shirt is off in a matter of seconds and he's in just underwear, pale, lanky body sticking out like a sore thumb next to his hair and his eyes--his _eyes,_ holy shit. They're all but black with desire, and Brendon can only think, I did that, he's like that because of me, how the hell did I get so lucky? And Ryan's practically tearing at Brendon's shirt like he'll die if it doesn't come off _now_ , and Brendon's self-conscious as fuck all of a sudden, covering his tummy with his arms, and Ryan looks up at him with those big black eyes and pulls his arms away.

"Gorgeous," Ryan murmurs, pressing a kiss to Brendon's neck, collarbones, ribs. Stomach. And then he's down there, fingers on the elastic of Brendon's boxers, looking up like he's asking for permission and even though Brendon's head is screeching 'are you kidding me do you really think I'd say no', he manages to nod and make a somewhat affirmative grunt. Then his underwear are gone--seriously, how did Ryan get them off so fast--and Ryan's breathing on the head of his cock, and that alone is just making Brendon harder. And out of nowhere Ryan's mouth is on him, tongue swirling around everything, everywhere, taking Brendon as deep as he can and stroking the places his lips can't reach with slim fingers. Brendon makes this sound halfway between a whine and a cry, and he reaches down to thread his fingers through Ryan's hair. He doesn't mean to pull as hard as he does, really doesn't, but then he doesn't have time to be sorry for doing it because Ryan full-out pornstar moans around a mouthful of dick, which is no small feat. Trying to comprehend what that means through his pleasure-hazed mind, Brendon eventually comes to the conclusion that Ryan maybe has a bit of an aggression kink.

He pulls again and while the moan is less crazed this time, it's definitely caused by the hair-tugging. Brendon groans at the vibrations, and he can feel the pressure building in his abdomen, he's almost there-

Ryan pulls off with a popping noise that would be gross if not for the heat of the moment, and the fact that Brendon hates him, loathes him with everything he is, because he was so, so painfully close and now Ryan's deliberately leaning away so as not to create any of the friction he needs.

"What the hell, shithead," he pants, and Ryan sits back on his heels, obviously trying to compose himself.

"Bren, listen, okay?" he gasps, pulling Brendon's hand away from his dick. "You gotta--you gotta tell me, man--I can't think--"

"Ry." Brendon's steady voice surprises even himself. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

"I mean." Ryan brings a hand up to scratch his cheek nervously. "If you wanted to, we could--maybe, we could-"

"Yes," Brendon cuts him off, nodding vigorously.

"I--okay, okay, I gotta. I gotta get some stuff." Ryan looks so relieved as he crawls clumsily off of Brendon, off the bed and towards his suitcase. He has to rifle through at least six of the five thousand hidden pockets inside the thing with shaky hands before he hits the jackpot, grabbing at the little blue bottle and foil packet. When he turns around, though, he nearly chokes on his own breath. There's Brendon, spit-slicked fingers circling his entrance, slipping inside for a moment every few seconds. The sight goes straight to Ryan's dick, and he groans without meaning to, causing Brendon to give him that cocky you-know-you-love-it smirk. And he doesn't know what comes over him, but Ryan actually growls and leaps onto the bed again, yanking Bren's head up and clashing their lips together, teeth clicking against eachother. He grabs the lube and drizzles it onto his fingers without taking his mouth off of Brendon's, and then without warning he shoves two straight in. Brendon wails in a mix of pleasure-pain, the former being the more prominent. Ryan's sure they've woke half the hotel already, yet he just can't seem to bring himself to care. Not when he has a very sweaty Brendon Urie pushing down on his fingers, begging for more with his eyes. Who is he to deny the kid what he wants? Three fingers and Brendon's pleading, near tears, just wanting Ryan in him, now, now, now. Ryan's never been so impressed at his self-control--a year ago, he'd have long since came in his boxers--which, hey, why are those still on, nobody's getting fucked if he can't get naked, and then he is, so it's okay.

He's about to roll on the condom when Brendon reaches down, beads of perspiration rolling down his face and chest, and grabs it from his hand. "Don't want one," he manages, tossing it to the side carelessly. "Wanna feel you, Ry. Want you to fill me up, take me, hard as you want. Want you to make me scream."

And damn, how Ryan hadn't guessed that Bren would be an amazing dirty-talker, he'd never know. He moans in anticipation, pouring lube into his hands and rubbing it all over his cock, lining up with Bren's asshole. And then he's overcome by hot, wet heat like nothing he's ever felt before, like everything he's ever wanted to feel, because it's no secret neither of them has actually done this with a guy before, although Bren must have fingered himself fairly regularly for how easy it is to get inside him. When Ryan's buried deep as he can go, Brendon whines in the back of his throat, wrapping his ankles around the small of Ryan's back as if to urge him in ever deeper. Ryan makes a mental note to give Bren more dominancy next time, because there's a pursuing image in his head of Brendon riding him, holding him down and giving him all he's got, and the mental picture alone makes Ryan groan aloud and pull back halfway out only to thrust back hard. Brendon's nails dig into his back and he's going crazy, yanking out and slamming in faster than he ever thought he could. But he doubts much of anything can be impossible with Bren. When Ryan hits the little bundle of nerves, Brendon screams. Ryan doesn't care, cries out at the sensations Bren's movement creates for him, not caring in the least about Jon or Spencer or anyone, anyone but Brendon, Brendon with his sweat-slicked hair and blown pupils and open, gasping reddish mouth, muscles clenching and loosening around Ryan's cock.

When Ryan feels himself start to get close, he uses one hand to grab Brendon and kiss him, and he wraps the other around Bren's dick, tugging and twisting until white streaks shoot out of Brendon and his body goes slack beyond belief. The sensation is more than too much for Ryan, and then everything's flashing white and he cries out, hitting his high at a tremendous pace. And then he blacks out.

When he comes to, he's out of Brendon, but Bren's head is on his chest and they're half under the covers. He makes a noise to alert Brendon of his consciousness, and the younger boy kisses his chest affectionately.

"You were only out for a few minutes," Brendon announces. "I didn't know it was possible to get fucked into oblivion. I guess I'm just that great."

"Shut up," Ryan grumbles.

"You love me."

"Yeah, but that's not even the point. The point-" Ryan shuts up when he sees how Brendon's looking at him, all big shiny eyes and surprised mouth.

"Why are you looking at me like--oh." He realizes he kinda just inadvertently admitted that he loves Bren. It's no secret, but they haven't actually said it yet. So.

"Okay, yeah, Bren. I love you, alright? You know that already. You're amazing. I love you." He looks down. "Why are you looking at me like that?

Brendon's smile right now could probably melt solid steel. It's definitely melting Ryan's heart.

**Author's Note:**

> idek that ending tho. the moth flew down my shirt. molester moth. please help


End file.
